


Tell Me It's Not Real

by Wolfheart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Deathfic, Gen, Tragedy, Violence, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:59:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfheart/pseuds/Wolfheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn't want to look again at how much blood his little brother was losing. He needed to stay focused and find their exit. If he looked down at Sam one more time, the strength in his legs would certainly fall away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me It's Not Real

**Author's Note:**

> DEATHFIC.
> 
> The ages aren't specified but Sam is in high school.
> 
> Wow, I really don't know where this came from. I was testing out ZenWriter that I just downloaded.  
> Me + Writing Mood + Instrumental Music = BAD THINGS HAPPEN.
> 
> Everything gets emotional whenever I write to instrumental music. XD Jeez.  
> So, yeah. If tragedy is not your kind of thing, then please turn back now.

Hysteria buzzed around in Dean's skull as he clutched Sam closely to his chest. His wide-eyed gaze darted around as he searched desperately for an exit. Dean was forced to stop and lean against one of the house's door frames after stumbling over his feet. The room was spinning around him and closing in. It was all he could do from hyperventilating as his breath came out in near gasps each time. It felt like the air was thinning as if some hole to another dimension was sucking all the oxygen out of the cabin. He had to get out. He had to get Sam out of here. Time was ticking away, disappearing faster than steam and just as impossible to hold onto. Something wet and warm was running down Dean's arms after already soaking his hand that was pressed against Sam's side.

Dean didn't want to look again at how much blood his little brother was losing. He needed to stay focused and find their exit. If he looked down at Sam one more time, the strength in his legs would certainly fall away. 

The treacherous roar that had boomed through their cabin still shook Dean's insides as adrenaline continued to pump through his veins. The shrill cry that ripped out of Sam's throat still rang through Dean's ears. It was all he could hear, and he'd soon go deaf from the force of it if his heart didn't stop first. It was still uncertain which blow had been more critical: this haunting, crippling shout that made Dean's heart stop and body run cold or the claws that had slashed into Sam's side. If Dean turned back down the hall now, the corpse of the eight foot monster would still be lying there in the bedroom. Broken shards of glass would still be covering the windowsill and scattered along the wooden, floor panels. The sheets of Sam's bed would still be soaked with crimson blood. It'd be streaked across the floor in a trail leading to where Dean and Sam were now, and there would be blood staining the wood of the floor where the monster lied.

All of the evidence was abandoned behind him, but the blood soaking through his shirt now and running down his arm was enough of a reality check. It forced him to know that this was happening here and now. This wasn't one of the nightmares that jarred him awake at night, drenched him in sweat, caused his eyes to immediately search out for Sam, and wait with baited breath for his brother's chest to rise and fall with life. There were times where the fear was too tormenting. During those times whenever they didn't share a room--whenever they weren't holed up in some crappy, motel room--Dean would tiptoe out of bed and peek his head into his brother's bedroom just to calm the storm brewing inside of him.

He wondered if Sam ever silently caught him, if he wasn't really sleeping. He wanted to ask him now on impulse. He wanted to shake the body in his arms and demand if this was all happening or if he were still asleep in bed, imprisoned in his own body while the nightmare cut open his soul and fed him his greatest fears. He couldn't though because Sam's glassy eyes were staring half lidded at nothing. The mumbles falling past his lips was instinctive displeasure to all the pain terrorizing his body and not actual words.

Dean lost his footing again. His side knocked up against the back of the rocking chair in the living room. One of Sam's textbooks that had been resting there was knocked into the floor, and some homework papers spilled out of it. As Dean stumbled over to lean against the edge of the couch while his grip on Sam tightened, those school papers stared up at him. The memory of a few days ago played in his head. The feeling of the proud grin that had been stretched across his face ghostly fluttered inside of him, but it only made Dean's stomach twist.

"Christ, Sam! Did you ace all of your tests?" Dean flipped through the papers he had picked up off the floor after accidentally knocking Sam's open backpack off the bar in the kitchen. "You did, didn't you?"

Sam only glanced up at him long enough to roll his eyes before directing his attention back down at his homework. "If you're going to call me a nerd, there might as well be a reason for it, right?"

The comment felt off, hitting Dean a little sharper than he expected. He gave Sam a strange look before looking through the last of the test papers. "Well, it's a good thing you got this going for ya, right Sammy? Since it's obvious which one of us got the good looks."

"Right." The reply had a dead weight to it. The sarcasm seemed drier than usual, if not distant even. Sam's expression didn't change, and he didn't raise his head.

Dean carefully placed the papers back inside the backpack before complimenting honestly, "Those scores are really good, Sammy. Good job on them."

"You say that like it actually matters to you."

Dean's eyes widened at not only the words but the sharpness to them. "What?"

There was a fierceness shining in Sam's hazel eyes whenever he jerked his head up towards him. The glare made Dean tense as he instinctively geared up for a fight. "Don't lie to me, Dean," Sam snapped. "I got all A's, so what? It's not the same as sparring practice or shooting a bulls-eye."

"It's not," Dean agreed tensely. His shoulders were already raised an inch as he stood his ground there, eying Sam uncertainly. The acknowledgment only seemed to rile Sam up further.

"Of course not!" Sam snarled. "Because that's all that matters in this family. If I got perfect scores on everything I've ever done, it wouldn't matter! Dad's not going to congratulate me. _You're_ not either. Not really. It just isn't important."

"You're right. It's not as important as hunting," Dean boldly stated, irritation turning inside of him. "Grades aren't going to protect you, Sam. You think Dad drills this into us for nothing? We learn all this stuff for a reason. It's to keep us protected, keep us safe. We--."

" _Safe?!_ " Sam's laugh was harsh. "This life isn't _safe_ , Dean! We don't get to live normal lives like everyone else does. We travel across the country with a trunk full of weapons and ammo! We're _fugitives_ , criminals. This cabin we're staying in right now wasn't paid with _our_ money! _We_ don't have any money!"

"You think the people in your school are safe?!" Dean snapped. "Because they're _not._ They don't know the first thing about protecting themselves out there when shit hits the fan. They'd be dead in a heartbeat. That'sthe exact _opposite_ of safe!"

"That's just the thing! Nothing is going to hurt them! Yeah, there's ghosts and monsters out there, but that doesn't mean they're definitely going to get killed by them! Most people die of natural causes. _Normal_ causes!"

Dean scoffed, "And you'd be willing to take that chance? You'd just throw all this away, and go live some sugarcoated life?"

" _Yes!_ "

The answer shouldn't have shocked Dean as much as it did. Sam had straightened up in the chair, his full attention turned to Dean now as his stare practically burned through him.

"I'd give _anything_ to have that." Sam's voice cracked once, striking Dean sharper than any other words Sam had snarled out. The snag caused the muscles in Sam's body to tighten further as he raised up another inch. The pencil in his grasp trembled as his clenched hands began to shake. He was wound so tightly. Fury worked its way back through him as he pointed at himself. "That's all I've _ever_ wanted, Dean! I don't want to hunt for the rest of my life! I want to live like everyone else. I want to not move around every few months. I want to go to school for the entire school year for once! Not that either you or Dad care, but I don't want this! I don't want _any_ of this!"

"What's going on?"

Neither of them heard the front door open, and it wasn't until John was stepping inside and interrupting their argument that they realized the extra company. A stern gaze swept over the two of them in silence, waiting for one of them to give him an explanation. Dean's heart was beating in his ears as anger continued to pulse through him. Sam's words were still blaring through his head like sirens. He didn't _care?!_ That was utter bullshit! Dean's entire life was revolved around protecting Sam and making sure he was cared for. How could he accuse him of the exact opposite? Maybe it was this rush of anger that made Dean say it. Maybe it was the hurt that caused him to rope their father into this conversation. All of that anger was replaced with guilt the moment he said it though, whenever he coldly replied, "Sam was just saying how much he wants to get away from us. He'd turn his back on his family in a heartbeat if he could get the hell outta dodge."

Sam's eyes widened. Shock and disbelief shook him as he gaped at his older brother. Although he was still standing his ground with both hands enclosed into fists at his sides, Dean felt his heart drop at seeing the fear and betrayal shining in those hazel eyes. Okay, so Sam hadn't said any of those words. Even though Dean knew it wasn't in the back of his mind, those harsh words had felt like a stab in the back instead of just anger being thrown around. Sam had meant every word he said, Dean knew, but that didn't mean Sam would trade them up either. In the end, it looked like Dean stabbed him in the back instead.

John's expression hardened but was guarded of any true emotions. His voice had dangerously lowered when he asked, "Is that true, Sam?"

Dean deflated whenever Sam averted his gaze to the floor and mumbled bitterly, "Yes, sir."

All of the frustration and anger that still burning through him was meant for Dean, even though it was now being directed at John. Instead of denying it all like he should have, Sam had boldly agreed with Dean's backlash and was going to stand firm on the subject. Dean would be lying if he said he hadn't expected Sam to do that the moment Dean uttered those words. He just wished Sam hadn't. Something inside Dean twisted when his mind started to really analyze what was being said.

What if all of that had been true? What if Sam really would trade them up--trade _him_ up--for another life, another family? What if this hadn't been true before Dean stated it aloud? Speak of the devil, and he'll come. It made Dean feel sicker to think that maybe it had been true all along, and they were just recognizing it now. What if Sam really didn't want anything to do with them? What if Sam really meant he'd give up _everything_ to be normal?

Whenever Dean had stormed off to his own room, he could hear his dad and brother arguing through the walls. Although he could catch a word or two, the words were mostly muffled by the thick barriers between him and them. It didn't matter exactly what was said though. Dean knew the gist of it. The fact that they were arguingwas the only thing Dean needed to feel frustrated all over again. Him and Sam had been fighting for the past week and a half. John and Sam fighting wasn't anything new, but now they were fighting with each other _and_ Dean and Sam would continue to be on bad terms too. This--whatever was going on between the two of them--hadn't gotten straightened out before those two were at each other's throats again. If anything, Dean knew in the back of his mind that their own fight had caused this fight between Sam and John to be worse than most.

Dean was still mad. He was pacing the room with the urge to knock his fist against the wall, but there was a weight dragging him down too. He hadn't meant to bring John into this. This wasn't his fight to get into. This hadn't been about him--not really--but now it was. A part of Dean would stand tall and say Sam deserved to get scolded by John for all of this and would continue to say he was right earlier, but another part of Dean felt regret too. A part of him wanted to take it all back, rewind the clocks, and genuinely apologize to Sam for not being good enough for him. He wouldn't apologize though. Neither of them would.

 _Ha!_ Dean didn't feel so right anymore. Safe? He had said that word himself. He had declared how safe and _prepared_ they were to face the evils in the world and how they were better off than most people. He didn't feel so safe anymore now with Sam bleeding out in his arms. How was he supposed to know that the monster that Dad killed had a buddy? How was he supposed to know that it'd wait nearby, watching for the right opportunity when they were all alone and unguarded before attacking? How was he supposed to predict this?! Was that thing in there even dead?!

Safe. Yeah.... Maybe they weren't as safe as Dean would have liked to believe. Although the front door stood just a few feet away from him, Dean never made it outside. He knew he really should have forced himself to get out of the house. There was no telling if the gun he had fired had killed that monster or not, but Dean just couldn't move anymore. He needed help and needed it _now._ He crumbled down onto the floor with his back against the couch as he pulled his cellphone out of his jacket pocket. His movements had been so rickety that he nearly threw the phone across the living room trying to dig it out. His breathing was harsh still as he flipped open the phone and dialed their dad. His mind was still spinning. He didn't even realize the phone had rang several times in his ear without picking up. He barely registered the answering machine that answered Dean instead of their dad.

"You've reached the cell of John Winchester. If this is an emergency, leave a message or try my other cell. If you really need it, you already have it."

Dean almost misdialed trying to reach John's other cellphone when Sam began to cough violently. His entire body shook against Dean as blood sprayed out of his mouth, coloring his lips, chin, and the front of his shirt even more. The phone was ringing in his ears as Dean's eyes examined the injury again. He knew he really shouldn't look, but he had to. He had to make sure he was applying pressure to the right area. There were distinct slashes in Sam's side that were gushing. Although Dean tried to cover the area the best he could to avoid _seeing_ it, the wound was deep and large enough to where one of Sam's ribs was showing. _God_ , it smelled horrible too. The odor was thick, overwhelming, and suffocating Dean more and more as time passed. Dean could feel tears stinging his eyes before he slammed his head against the back of the couch. _Fuck._ Come on, Dad. _Please!_ Pick up the phone!

"This is John Winchester. You've reached my second cell. Leave a message, and I'll return your call as soon as I can."

Dammit.

Dammit, dammit, _dammit!_

Dean slammed his head back repeatedly against the couch. He was lucky he didn't break his cellphone with how firmly he was gripping it, nearly crushing it. Why did their dad have to be gone _now_ of all times?! Why did he have to go check on a few things? Why couldn't he have said the job was done, forced them to packed their things, and drove them all out of this stupid town?! Dean's breath caught in his throat whenever he felt the amulet around his neck move out of sync with his own movements. When his gaze jerked down, he was met with Sam's dazed stare. Shaky fingers barely grazed the edges of the amulet Dean was wearing, the amulet _Sam_ had given to him all those years ago on Christmas. Sam's lips were parted open, but only wheezes came out. Dean wasn't think about that Christmas though. No, his mind was trailing back to what happened an hour ago.

They had been fighting prior to this. There had been so much fighting between them lately. Dean wasn't used to being on the receiving end of Sam's rage. It had always been directed towards their dad. Sure, him and Sam fought. They were brothers. That's just what brothers do, but it had never been like this. Dean wish he could say he knew what had changed, but he hadn't the slightest clue. He didn't know or understand where any of this was coming from.

The major hunt had been over, but John had left again. He had been really shady on the details of it. Both Sam and Dean got the sense that it still had to do with the hunt. They didn't know if that meant he had missed something or he was just being paranoid. It wouldn't be the first time paranoia drove John to say he was finished only to leave again, but it always left his sons restless. That restlessness mixed with the bickering him and Sam had gotten into had made Dean fed up with everything. He couldn't stay cooped up in the house any longer. He had opened his phone, texted April--some girl he hooked up with a couple of times while they were staying here in Montana--threw on his jacket, and was prepared to head out that door. He'd be back before John got back. He didn't plan to be gone long, not wanting to risk getting back late and getting yelled at for his absence. What he hadn't expected--and perhaps should of--was Sam yelling at him for his absence instead.

"Where are you going?" Sam half demanded. He stood in the hallway, watching as Dean was about to open the front door.

"Out," Dean grunted, not wanting to get into another row with his brother. He just needed to get out of this cabin and get some fresh air. He needed to let his nerves cool off or at least blow off some steam with April. If he stayed here and got into _another_ fight with Sam, Dean swore he was going to go ballistic.

"You're leaving." A faint laugh left Sam, but there wasn't any humor in it. Dean didn't have to turn to see Sam's expression. He could practically _feel_ the anger beginning to stir inside of his brother. "You're _leaving._ "

"Yes, Sam," Dean exasperatedly declared as he turned around in annoyance. "Great deduction skills. We're all very proud."

"What the hell, Dean? You can't just leave!"

"And why the hell not?"

\--

_"This is 911. Please state your emergency."_

\--

Sam bit his lip, choosing to stay quiet. He didn't have to respond though because Dean knew the answer. Dad's absence was causing his insides to churn uneasily too. While dodging this truth, Sam shot out instead, "I can't _believe_ you! Dad could be here any second!"

"Yeah, well, he's not here," Dean insisted, standing his ground in the open doorway.

" _I'm_ still here!" Sam shouted suddenly.

\--

_"My brother was attacked," Dean choked out. He knew John would be pissed at him for involving the authorities, but he couldn't get a hold of their dad. This was an emergency. There wasn't much time left. "He's bleeding out, and I can't stop it! I need help!"_

\--

"You're a big boy, Sam. You can take care of yourself for a few hours."

Sam pushed his bangs back and let his hand rest on his head. " _Dean_." His tone sounded very close to begging. His voice was shaking and rose a few notches towards the end. "You're just going to leave me here for some girl you met a month ago?! So much for not turning your back on your family! Double standards much, Dean?"

"Don't twist this around!" Dean snapped. " _You're_ the one who's so convinced that I don't care! For fuck's sake, I'm only going to be gone for a few hours! "

"Do you care, Dean? _Do you?!_ " Sam sniffed once, and his eyes looked glossier than usual, but these details didn't sink in Dean's mind until he was already driving shotgun down the road with April a few minutes later.

Dean's grip on the door tightened as his gut twisted in frustration. _Again_ with this?! How the hell could--? Dean shook his head irritably and declared, "Goodbye, Sam."

_\--_

_"An ambulance is on its way. Sir, can you please stay on the line with me?" Dean nodded furiously as a tear began to leak out of one of his eyes. He was trembling there on the floor with the phone in hand, rotating between clutching it too tight and threatening to accidentally drop it from not being able to grasp it tight enough._

\--

Sam shook his head, glaring at Dean before turning furiously on his heels and storming off to his room. " _God!_ " He shouted as his entire body quivered with rage. "I _hate_ you!"

Dean hesitated suddenly, cringing at the blow. His eyes widened in surprise before narrowing from the rush of pain that swept through him. He slammed the door on his way out, stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, and stiffly approached April's car outside with his shoulders up around his neck as he kept his head down. He kicked at a rock that was in the dirt paved driveway before jerking open the car door and tossing himself indignantly into the seat.

Thirty minutes.

Dean had been away from the house for thirty minutes. After his anger settled, his mind wouldn't stop wandering back over the little cues he didn't catch during the heat of their discussion. Worry was beginning to constrict his insides and after fifteen minutes of driving down the road, he asked April to turn back around. Thirty minutes was how long they were separated. Two seconds was how long it took for those claws to rip into his brother's flesh, slicing his side right open. It had taken the same amount of time to shoot the monster down, but Dean had already been _minutes_ too late.

"Sir, please try to stay calm," The woman on the line tried to coax him, but her tone was too neutral to be persuasive. "Are you applying pressure to the cut?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dean mumbled weakly. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw the phone across the room, punch the floor, and holler out until he was coughing up blood from his throat being so sore. He didn't do any of those things though. Any amount of strength Dean had was gone now. He was struggling with himself to just hold the phone up to his ear. It took almost too much effort to even listen to what the woman on the other line was saying. Everything was just becoming too much.

Sam caught Dean's attention again. The necklace actually tugged on his neck this time, and Dean quickly realized that Sam was holding onto the amulet now instead of just brushing it was his fingertips. The hold wasn't strong, but it was enough to cause Dean to tilt his head down some so that the necklace wasn't pinching the skin on the back of his neck. Those hazel eyes that didn't stray from Dean's face looked watery. Sam's Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled to speak. Dean wanted to hush him, tell him to save his energy and not try to talk, but he just couldn't. He _needed_ to hear Sam speak. He needed to hear his voice so badly that Dean wanted to weep because of it. The thought of never hearing Sam's voice again clawed at his mind, and it made Dean feel nauseous.

The muffled words that Sam forced out were very faint and rattled in his throat, but Dean heard them all the same. He was listening too intently to Sam to ever miss them. "'m sorry."

Dean frowned as wrinkles began to form on his forehead in confusion. No. _No._ He didn't want Sam to apologize to him. He couldn't have possibly apologized to him after all this. Sam was so out of it that Dean wouldn't be surprised if the last words Sam ever remembered Dean saying to him were, 'Goodbye, Sam.'

_Goodbye._

God, Dean almost wished Sam hadn't said anything. 'I hate you' was better than this, better than a fucking _apology._ This was Dean's fault. _He_ was the one who wasn't there when he should have been. _He_ was the one who left Sam by himself. He _knew_ Sam didn't want him to leave. He _knew_ why, and he left anyway! Sam didn't have the fucking _right_ to apologize, especially not now of all times! Dean hadn't replied whenever Sam half asked, half demanded if Dean cared. Dean didn't interrupt Sam during their other argument either to convince him that Sam _mattered._ _Fuck._ What if Sam really didn't know? What if Sam really thought Dean didn't give a rat's ass? He had to know, right? _Right?_ But _what if_ \--?

The corners of Sam's mouth faintly pulled upward in a smile. A _smile._ The little shit had the balls to apologize _and_ smile at him! It was such a Sam thing to do, and Dean wanted to punch him for it. He so desperately wished this wasn't as deep of a situation as it was. He wished he could yell at him for not being careful enough and scold him for getting into such a close call. He wished he could see Sam roll his eyes at him, brush it all off, insist how he was fine, and tell Dean that he was just being melodramatic. This wasn't a close call though. This was it. This was the real deal. Sam was--. _Sam was--_.

A tear slipped out of Sam's eye and trickled down his cheek. Dean's breath caught in his throat whenever the moment happened. He knew it instantly. He could feel the way Sam was going limp in his arms. He could see the light fading out of his eyes and how his head was starting to fall back. The grip Sam had on the amulet loosened, but Dean grabbed Sam's hand before it could fall, letting the cellphone drop out of his hand and clatter against the floor. He clutched Sam's hand and the amulet close to his chest, refusing to ever let go and trying to convince himself that Sam didn't feel as cold as he was. "Sammy?" Dean choked out his brother's name, knowing he wasn't going to get a response. He was never going to get a response from him again.

"Sir? Sir, are you still there?"

No. He was long gone too. Dean broke then. Tears streaked down his face as he crumpled inward, folding down towards Sam, who was still resting in his lap. He wept against Sam's chest, not caring that he was getting blood on his face or how he was soaking Sam's body with his tears. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shake Sam and tell him over and over again: I care, I care, I _care._ None of that happened though. No words left him. Tears were all he could manage.


End file.
